Desires of the Heart
by newyork24-7
Summary: A story in which the Baron does not turn down Felicity's offer to save her son.
1. Chapter 1

**I know that a big part of the episode and of the unresolved storyline that followed was the Baron turning down Felicity's offer but I always thought that not only was he in a vulnerable place where he might not have been as gentlemanly has he might normally have been, but also that just before James had burst in there was a moment between them. So I have kind of exploited that to come up with this, 'what if' story.**

**The next chapter will most likely come under the m rating, so you may need to alert it if you want to follow any updates.**

* * *

As Felicity's hands slid up his uniform, her palms applying a light pressure against his chest as they rose before linking around his neck the Baron struggled to listen to her words. He had always wanted her to touch him like this, for her to give into him, but he had never thought for one moment that it would be like this.

Her tone was desperate, almost tearful, her hands shook as she made her offer. Her phrasing was clumsy but her meaning clear as she pressed herself against him. At any other time, in any other way he would have gladly taken her offer, but like this it left an almost bitter taste in his mouth. He grabbed her wrists, forced them off from around his neck, unable to bear the closeness when it was like this.

He raised his eyes to her face, to her pale, tearstained cheeks, her eyes wide as she looked at him unsurely, her breath falling in shaky gasps. He had never thought he would see her like this, submissive, waiting with bated breath for his command. Unable to look at the desperation in her eyes, the Baron momentarily lifted his gaze to the wall instead. He was in command, a job he had relished when it had been handed to him, it had been almost a way out. So many other men of rank were put in charge of the camps and he could not have borne that. Here he had believed the death, the destruction would be minimized and yet he had already shot one young man and now he would have to shoot another. She would lose her son, as so many others had in this hateful war.

Looking back down at her, his grip tightened as he told her, "It is very extraordinary that I should lose my son the day before you lose-"

He was unable to finish his sentence. "No!" She let out a harsh sob as she threw herself against him. "Please, you've still got one son, I won't have any. I'm begging you, please!"

Everything muddled in his head. He did not want to shoot Philip Dorr, he had liked the boy. He did not want to kill...to murder her son or indeed anyone's son, did not want to leave any mother childless and especially not her. He swallowed heavily as he forced himself not to think why that was, why she should provoke such thoughts in him. There was no way he could spare her son, not after all that had happened. Grabbing her arms again he pulled her from himself, his eyes meeting hers, in his own voice becoming harsh with desolation as he asked, "How can I?"

Her expression cleared slightly, her sobs subsiding even as she drew in harsh breaths. The challenge in her eyes was back, even if it was slightly muted. Her arms heaved in his grasp from the effort of just breathing as she told him, "Because it's right. You said so yourself" She gulped back a breath searching his face in the way she had that made him feel so exposed, almost vulnerable as she continued, "If you believe it's right then it's right. Believe it, Baron, believe it!"

He wanted to, oh how he wanted to. He wanted to forgive her son, to find a way. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his hands. It had been so long since he had felt the touch of anybody. The women who had thrown themselves at him had held no appeal, he had never thought himself that desperate for a woman. Except now he was desperate, but only for her, for her approval, for her touch. It would be the right, the gentlemanly thing to do to simply find the way she wanted him to and leave her offer of a sacrifice out of the proceedings. He should, normally he would never have entertained such an offer.

His thumb jerked, only a inch at most but it resulted in an accidental caress. She appeared not to notice, her eyes still searching his face. So long, he thought again. Was it wrong of him to want that closeness? And what did it mean that he only wanted it from her?

He couldn't think about that, wouldn't think about that. He should turn her down now, tell her that he would do the right thing without her sacrifice. The words sat on the tip of his tongue and yet he couldn't say them. Her hair was escaping from its confines in light whisps that curled around her face, catching in the light. He reached out, pushing a strand back, his fingers grazing her cheek as he did so. She didn't move, didn't flinch as she watched him.

"You are right," he told her, his hand curving around her neck, one sliding round her waist as he drew her closer, still waiting for a fight that was not coming. He lowered his head and felt the catch in her breath. His mouth brushed against hers, a fleeting caress. Still she didn't react. He wanted her to react, whether it was a fight, a struggle or a passionate return he needed something from her, something that would make him feel alive. Anything would be preferable to this dull ache of constant grief that sat in the pit of his stomach, of the aching loneliness that now constantly gnawed at him.

He kissed her again, pulling her into him, crushing her against him. He deepened the kiss this time, slowly, gently until the tension left her body and she relaxed against him, a sigh escaping her lips as finally she kissed him back. He could forget, he realised, when she was in his arms he could forget his pain, felt sensation fizz along his veins as though he was finally coming out of a deep slumber.

Her hands were in his hair now, pulling him closer. She wanted him, no matter the reasons for her offer she did want him. Passion could not be faked. She was on her tiptoes, her frame tiny compared to his. His uniform felt tight, constricting. Her clothing in the way of his questing fingers. Not now though, he wanted time with her. He broke the kiss, she looked surprised as she stared at him, searching his face for clues as to what he might do next. Her fingers came up and rested against her mouth. "It is right," he got out, his voice harsh, his breath falling heavily as he cupped her cheek, watched her eyes flutter shut in relief.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"It is you who will pay the price," he reminded her. He should let her offer slide but he simply couldn't, not now, not now he'd had a taste of her.

"There is none I wouldn't pay for Phil."

"Quite."

They stared at each other, he'd expected, considering what he'd just told her, that her look would be one of hatred, but it wasn't. Her son was saved and she didn't care what consequences that meant for her. His hands dropped from her, slightly shamed by his decision to go through with this but not enough to force a retraction from his mouth.

The door flew open, the Senator all but falling through the door. "Felicity," he gasped anxiously as he did so, before his eyes widened in horror at who was standing there with her.

"He knows everything, James," she told him.

The door fell shut behind him, the thud echoing in the room. The Baron felt his lips curl upwards into a sneer as he looked at his nemesis, the man who constantly tried to outmanoeuvre him and failed. The man who had so much in front of him and instead of holding it close, of protecting it did whatever he could to push against the regime, putting everything at risk. "I could have you shot, Senator," he told him quietly, seeing Felicity flinch beside him at his words. "Handing over such delicate details regarding our war effort, and aiding an escape. No one would question me."

"Yes," the man agreed. "You're right."

"And what of your wife?"

Panicked eyes met his now and he stepped forward, stepping in front of Felicity as though he could shield her from him as he insisted, "She knew nothing about this. Nothing!"

"No, she simply did as any mother would." He let his words hang in the air for a moment, before finally adding, "I shall have my Landsers escort you to the prison, Mr Dorr, where your driver and Mr Brotherson are already."

* * *

Felicity watched as the Baron left the room, leaving her alone with her husband, she felt shaken, disorientated, almost detached from reality. She looked up at him, his hair was falling over his forehead as he told her anxiously, "I am so sorry, Felicity, this was my fault. I should have discouraged him, I shall never forgive myself and I certainly don't expect you to."

She didn't have much time, she realised. The Baron had given her mere moments with her husband. She grasped his hands, her voice hushed as she whispered hurriedly, "He isn't going to shoot, Phil."

"What? But he was caught spying, he'll shoot us both, you heard him."

"No, no he won't. Please James, just listen to me. He isn't going to shoot, Phil, you need to remember that. If he doesn't shoot Phil for spying then he cannot shoot you." She squeezed his hands. "Please, James you must trust me."

After a moment he nodded. "Of course I do. Oh Felicity-"

The door opened, the Baron was back and this time he was accompanied by Landsers. They seized James quickly, he did not fight back, his wife had handed him a ray of hope and to fight would be to endanger that, and so he went meekly.

Felicity felt her hands shake as she watched them march her husband from the room. She looked up at the Baron, he looked so impassive, his face void of any emotion. She looked away, she'd given herself to him and she could not reconcile this man standing in front of her with the man who had just kissed her. He had kissed her as though he had cared, not a man who was claiming his prize - and yet that was what he had been doing.

"Tell Schmitz to bring my car around," he instructed them. "I shall follow you onto the prison."

"Yes, Sir."

Felicity took a step forward, as though she meant to follow them. The Baron cleared his throat. "You should stay here, Mrs Dorr." As the room cleared he added quietly, "There is much to be done and you must not be involved." He met her wary gaze. "You must trust me," he told her. "I have given you my word."

She stepped back. "Of course."

He gave a nod of approval. "I shall be back later tonight."

Her cheeks flushed and her hands clenched as she gave a nod. "I suppose I shall see you then, Baron."

"You shall."


	2. Chapter 2

**Not quite ready for an m rating yet, but it will switch settings at somepoint.**

* * *

The file felt heavy in his hands as Flach passed it over to him, he didn't read it, didn't even open it, just laid it to the side of him, his decision made. If he were to be honest with himself it was made from the moment he had made the choice to go to Sous La Chaine rather than straight to the Senator's office. He had wanted -even then- for her to give him a solution.

"This Brotherson business, do we need to bother with a court martial?" Flach asked, a malicious glint in his eyes. "It's a complete waste of time, the outcome's inevitable."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Well shoot him and have done with it. At Sous La Chaine, I suppose, it's nice and quiet, one can be discreet."

It took all his effort not to let his lip curl in disgust. Flach took great enjoyment from his job, from the needless persecution that he choose to let it entail. He did not care for their orders to bring the Islanders into the Reich, they were there for him to crush under the heel of his boot, nothing else. He thought briefly of Felicity, of executing her son in her home, in her beloved garden and he felt physically ill. "There will be no execution," he stated, letting his gaze finally fall from Flach.

"But he's a spy!" The disbelief in Flach's voice was palpable.

"I told you I knew him. He was here on leave when we invaded and instead of surrendering he went civilian, he's no spy."

Flach looked wildly down at the file, waving his hand at it. "What about those photographs?"

"What about them?"

"They're all military."

He could not argue that point and it was safer to simply refuse to do so. "He's a soldier," he stated.

"He's a spy!"

"We shot the spy, he's a soldier. Get him sent to France, he's a POW now."

His words were meant as a dismissal, but Flach would not take them as one. "This is wrong, Sir."

"I believe it is right." The man in front of him continued to stare in disbelief. "And my driver, Constable Jonas, he stole petrol and assisted the escape, that's a prison sentence, isn't it."

It was not a question, they both knew that. "And that's it?" Flach replied, his knuckles turning white as his grip on his hat tightened.

"One other, the Senator."

"Senator Dorr."

"He assisted also, six to nine months the pair of them." This time it would seem he truly had rendered Flach speechless. Silence stretched out between them, as though the other man were waiting on the punch line of what he considered to be a bad joke. The Baron raised his eyes to his again when he realised that he was not about to move and he didn't want him here, his questioning gaze upon him. "Well?"

Finally he gave a curt nod before turning onto his heel. The Baron stared after him, his eyes almost unseeing. He had just made a rod for his own back and he knew it. Flach despised weakness and now he had seen it in him, which meant he would forever be dogging his steps, looking for it to present itself again. He would try to root out the source of that weakness, destroy it, uncaring of what or even who he took out in the process.

* * *

The wind had taken on a biting edge as summer began to fade into autumn, but Felicity didn't feel any of that as she stared into the darkness of her garden. The plume of smoke from her cigarette curled into the air before it faded and disappeared, the ash at the tip glowing orange as it smouldered, crumbling to the ground. Felicity was aware of none of this, holding the cigarette slackly in-between her fingers she didn't even bring it up to her mouth to inhale, just let it burn.

It had taken every ounce of her self control not to rush down to the prison as the hours had ticked by. Every car that had driven up to the house had made her jump, had her rushing to the window, half expecting to see either Phil or James dragged out, ready to be pinned against one of the trees in her orchard. She had his word, she kept reminding herself, they had a deal.

Finally she brought her cigarette up to her lips, breathing in shakily as she felt the tang of nicotine hit the back of her throat. The idea of the deal should leave her cold, should make her feel sick to her stomach, a thing made purely from necessity and yet it didn't feel anything like that. His kiss should have made her feel used, cheapened even. It should not have made her heart race the way it did, her skin shouldn't have tingled where is fingers had grazed over it and she most certainly should not have arched into his caress, wanting more, encouraging him. She had offered that deal out of desperation, had seen how he looked at her, listened to her husband protest about the attention he paid to her and the words had simply fallen from her. She had nothing else she could offer him, no other leverage than the hope that he would take her sacrifice instead. Except now it didn't feel like a sacrifice. Her free hand rubbed at her temple, it could become complicated, it already was complicated. She had all but sold herself to him and she didn't regret it. What kind of person did that make her?

And then there was James to consider. What would he say? Would he understand? She had not thought of him at first, had thought only of Phil, of his back against a tree, rifles in his face...Her hand shook so badly that the cigarette slipped from her fingers. Even now she couldn't dwell on that thought, she would have given anything, even her life to ensure that wouldn't happen. It was only when James had rushed into the room, his expression crushed, dazed, that she realised his life had also been in jeopardy, that she stood to lose everything. She only hoped that he would understand that, that she'd done it for them.

There was the now familiar sound of jackboots crunching on the gravel pathway, and Felicity quickly pressed the toe of her shoe down onto the still smouldering cigarette, extinguishing it as she turned to face him. It would only be him, neither Captain Muller nor Lieutenant Walker would venture out here, and the rest of the Landsers had left hours ago.

The Baron paused as she turned to look at him, her eyes wide, fearful. Only a few more steps and he would be close enough to reach out, to touch her, to comfort her and yet he stayed where he was. Silence stretched out between them until she could obviously bear it no longer. "What happened?" She asked quietly.

"Mr Brotherson is to be sent to a POW camp in France, he shall see out the rest of the war there."

The ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Oh thank God," she whispered before looking back across at him, that forthright gaze of hers searing into him. "Thank you," she told him, her voice louder, unwavering now.

"The camp is a lenient one, he shall be treated fairly underneath the Geneva Convention. He may even be able to write from time to time. If he is sensible then he should be safe, but even I cannot guarantee anything."

"I know that. You've done everything you could." She let out a shaky sigh of relief. "And James?"

"Both he and Constable Jonas have been sentenced to six to nine months in prison. All three leave by boat tomorrow morning. You will of course have the opportunity to see your goodbyes at the harbour. Once they have left we will post a notice in the square, we do not want there to be crowds tomorrow, people may be tempted to show their displeasure."

Felicity gave a small nod. "James is popular here."

"Having met your Bailiff I am not surprised that the Islanders look to the Senator instead."

"He was effective once." She felt compelled to defend the elderly Bailiff as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Where is this prison?"

"France."

"And will they be as lenient as they will with Phil?"

He paused before he answered, and in that moment she already knew what he was about to tell her. "No. They have broken the law and therefore they will both have to work during that time." He did not add that he was not even tempted to spare the Senator that punishment, he would risk himself for her son, who reminded him so much of his own, for the bravado of a young man doing what was right for his country, but not for two grown men willing to throw away everything they had. He looked up at Felicity who was biting down on her bottom lip as she considered his words, and he wondered if the Senator had even considered what his actions would do to his wife, if he had thought of what the consequences may have been for her. He was willing to bet that he had had not a second thought of her until the moment it all went wrong. "I see no reason why they will not serve their punishment without coming to any harm," he added. He would not have sent the man to his death, it would be pointless, much better to have a chastened version of him here, where he was of some use.

Felicity gave a small nod. "I was not criticising," she told him. "I am grateful for what you've done for us. You know, don't you, that I can never thank you enough."

"I have grown sickened, Mrs Dorr, by the deaths of young men," he admitted.

She looked saddened by his words, no doubt thinking of his son. "Who could not in these circumstances?"

"There are those who relish that side." His eyes slid away from hers and she saw his bottom lip quiver slightly - as it had done when he confided in her about his son – as he confessed, "I regret my part in the death of Eugene La Salle. At the time I saw no other option, and given what we knew, the evidence we had I still do not think I would have had the choice. But I do regret it."

"War makes monsters of us all," she replied quietly. "There is little pride in any of it, for anyone. It forces us to make decisions that we otherwise would never make, about a life we never thought we would have to live." She met his curious gaze head on as she declared. "We will all make decisions that we will regret."

"And how will you live with yourself for these decisions?"

"I suppose that I hope that I will just be glad that I lived...that Phil lived."

He gave a humourless smile. "Ah, the love of a mother."

"The love of a parent," she corrected him. "I have no doubt that you would have done anything to spare your son."

"Yes."

Felicity nodded, the simple word and the flicker of grief in his eyes were enough answer. "I needled you, the other night, when we spoke."

"Needled?" He glanced at her in confusion.

"Goaded...provoked," she explained, watching as his face cleared, her meaning becoming apparent. "Given the circumstances it was wrong of me, and I'm sorry for that."

"You were concerned for your own son, I can understand that."

"It still does not make it right."

"You knew, what was happening that night." It was not a question but still she watched him warily. "I am only curious, there will be no reprisal for your answer," he added.

"I did know," she admitted. "But too late to stop it."

"And would you have?"

"Of course." Her stance straightened and he saw instantly that some of her fire, her fight had returned. "I may understand the necessity of this war and I will never agree with your Fuhrer's policies but I have no wish to add my son to the growing sacrifice of young men who are dying at that particular alter." Her eyes glowed as her mouth pinched slightly. "He was safe here."

"But the Senator didn't agree?"

"I thought he did." She had felt betrayed when she realised that James had helped him leave, that last row still echoed in her ears. They had grown closer in the last few weeks, united in their shared concern for their son, united against a common enemy. For a short time she had even thought that perhaps her marriage could be salvaged. Now she didn't know. She worried for him, for his safety but his betrayal was still raw. "But it would appear that I was wrong."

He didn't reply, there was nothing he could say. The Senator had chafed against his restraints, the guilt from his involvement in La Salle's death clouding his judgement. He had seen an opportunity to be free of his captors and he had taken it. He wondered idly if the man would have been able to live with the deaths that would have resulted from the English attempting to win back the Island. His fingers itched to reach out and comfort her but still he didn't move. "It is a cold night," he finally murmured. "You should not stay out long, you will catch a chill."

She glanced up at the stars that shone in the inky black sky and gave a nod. "I just needed to clear my head." Looking back over at him, she asked wryly, "Unless this is about curfew?"

He gave a small chuckle, a low rumble that only just registered. "I believe we agreed bringing that up here would be bad form."

Her lips twitched in a small smile. "So we did."

"I hope I can trust you not to abuse such a courtesy."

Felicity nodded. The words and tone were teasing but she knew there was an undercurrent of a warning there.

He wanted to stay, wanted to sit with her, to talk to her and draw some form of comfort from her presence, but tonight wasn't the night for that. She tucked a curl of blonde hair behind her ear and the words excusing her from their deal sat on the tip of his tongue. She deserved better than this, to be a sacrifice in this war and yet he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. "Goodnight, Mrs Dorr," he told her instead.

Surprise registered across her features, watching him turn away from her, take his first step she blurted out, "Our deal?"

"Still stands," he answered automatically, turning to face her once again.

"I know...That's not what I meant." She had thought that tonight he would want her to carry through on her side of their arrangement. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I don't know how this works."

Neither did he, all he knew that tonight was not the right time for them to spend time together. He did not want her feeling guilty tomorrow when she said her goodbyes to her husband. Anything that happened or was said tonight would be forever tainted by that guilt. It was bad enough that she was caught up in this, that this was how he'd won her. It wasn't what he had wanted, how he had wanted it to play out. "I suspect we shall work that out as we go along. However I believe that it is best for both of us if we are discreet." It could be disastrous for both of them if the real reason behind his leniency was to be revealed. That the Kommandant had been felled by a woman, the consequences did not bear thinking about.

Relief bloomed across her face. It had worried her that he might make her subjection obvious, that he would use the opportunity to humiliate her husband in public. "Of course," she muttered.

He fought the urge to stay. "As I said, Goodnight, Mrs Dorr."

"Goodnight, Baron."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm 99.9% certain that the next chapter will deserve an m rating.**

**Also while watching the end of episode 6 for the dialogue I happened to notice for the first time that the Baron was at the harbour, which I found interesting. Also I love their last scene together, however due to stealing bits of it for the previous chapter I did have to change some dialogue.**

* * *

She saw James pause by the car door as he stepped out of the vehicle, and she winced slightly as one of the supervising Landsers pushed him forward, forcing him to walk. Inhaling sharply, Felicity looked away, it was an image she didn't want to hold in her head, it echoed as warning to what most likely lay ahead for her husband. She blanked her mind, she didn't want to risk upsetting him and if she showed weakness then that's exactly what she would do. She needed him to keep a clear head and if he was worried about her then he wouldn't do that; a clear head was a necessity for his survival.

Having rallied, she looked back up, watched him as he kissed Angelique's cheek and walked towards her. She reached out, caressed his cheek, relieved to see his face unmarked, free of any signs of brutality. He leaned into her touch, covering her hand with his. "They didn't hurt you," she whispered, unable to hide her relief.

"No." He shook his head. "They've been almost oddly pleasant." His fingers squeezed hers, his concerned eyes searching hers, the lines around them deepening as he asked, "Have they questioned you?"

"No," she replied honestly. Her eyes slid to the Landser and back again. "I didn't know anything, so what would be the point?"

His shoulders relaxed. "Of course. Felicity, I am so sorry, it was a foolish decision, born of my own guilt and pride."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly as she murmured, "It doesn't matter, not anymore. Don't think about it, there are more important things." She would not let him torture himself, what difference would it make? No good would come of it.

He sank into her embrace, relieved of his guilty burden. "Oh, Felicity," he whispered thankfully into her ear. "I'll miss you."

She drew back from him. "I suppose you'll be able to write." And in that moment she hoped that he would be allowed to, that their contact wouldn't be entirely severed throughout these months, that she would reassured he was safe and alive.

James looked at her, his expression solemn. "I just want to say..." He swallowed heavily as though the next words pained him, "that I think you've achieved something quite remarkable with the Baron, and whatever it took, I understand."

His words were almost like a balm to her prickling conscience, an assurance that he would love her no matter what cost she'd had to pay. Being James, and having a habit of shying away from any unpalatable truths –especially those that resided within their marriage – she knew he would never ask exactly what she had done. It was more than enough to comfort her though, and she knew what it had cost him to say it. Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him, it was the most intimate gesture she'd shared him in quite some time, and she felt his immediate surprise before he relaxed and kissed her back.

Drawing away from him, she told him firmly, "I love you." Words that she had not uttered in years, words that had been obscured by the petty faults that had blighted their marriage. It was only now, in the light of true horrors that she realised that she did love him. For all his faults he was a good man, who did his best to be a good husband and father.

A small but delighted smile broke across his otherwise tired face. "I love you," he replied.

She couldn't help but smile back, despite all that lay ahead of him he looked younger, more hopeful than he had in years. "I want you back soon."

For a moment they just stood, James looked as though there was something else he wanted to say, delight shone in his eyes. She'd never been in any doubt that he loved her, although she knew certain aspects of her personality –her stubbornness mainly – that irritated him, but she'd always known that despite this, he adored her. It was only now that she truly appreciated that he had not always been as sure of her feelings. His hands squeezed hers, his smile widening. She only hoped she had said enough, that he would keep in mind that she was waiting for him and it would be enough to stop him doing anything stupid.

"Please," came the muttered German request from the Landser. He waved his hand towards the waiting boat.

James gave a nod, and despite it all, despite her promise to stay strong, Felicity felt herself begin to well up, felt the tears prick at the back of her eyelids as she watched him swallow heavily, accepting what was coming next, and trudge towards the boat.

The rumble of an approaching truck pulled away her attention, and Felicity blinked away the tears that had threatened to fall as Phil jumped out of the back, clutching his small case to his chest. This time she had to stay unaffected, it was important that no-one –not even at this late hour – discovered her real connection to Phil. He too seemed to realise the importance of this, and held out his hand, shaking hers firmly. "Goodbye, Mr Brotherson."

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Goodbye, Mrs Dorr."

"I hope all goes well in France."

He glanced unsurely over his shoulder, careful of who might be listening as he replied, "I'm sure it will." He looked back at her, continuing meaningfully, "Thanks for everything. You're not to worry about me, I'm what they call a lucky one."

Felicity tried to hold back her smile at his words. Her darling boy, always so confident – sometimes overly so – and always so sure of what was best, of what was right. She hoped he never lost that optimism. If anything, seeing him now just made her more certain of the choice she had made. It was no sacrifice, not for him. She watched him walk away and had no doubt that she would count the days until this hateful war was finished and she had him back, safe at home.

She could feel the strain of holding back her tears start to strain her face again, as she stepped forward, listening to the yells of the German soldiers as the boat's engine started, the ropes anchoring it to the bay undone. James raised his hand to her and she waved back as the boat began to round the corner, disappearing from view. To her side she could see the Jonas family comforting each other and she realised just how alone she now was.

* * *

As they hit the open water, one of the Landsers nodded towards the floor, telling the three men sharply, "You may sit, just don't try anything stupid or we will shoot you."

He turned on his heel, switching back to his native tongue as he joked with a colleague as they strolled up the boat, stopping midway, just out of earshot. Wilf surveyed the dusty floor and gave a small shrug, "Don't suppose we should be worrying about keeping our clothes clean."

"No, it does seem the least of our worries," James agreed as he dropped down with a groan. "How long till we get there?"

"About two hours, although it depends on where in France they decide to dock." Wilf twisted as he looked back over his shoulder, trying in vain to catch one last glimpse of his home. "Suppose we should be grateful."

"I think so," Phil remarked, his voice a hiss. "I thought for sure we were going to end up with a German rifle in our faces. I still don't understand...yesterday morning they seemed set on shooting me." He frowned. "What changed their minds?"

James stared resolutely ahead of himself, his fist clenching as he forced himself not to think about what he'd left his wife to face. "I'm sure I don't know."

"Don't suppose it matters," Wilf replied. "It's done now, just need to make sure we all get back." He glanced sideways at the Senator, took in the twitch of his jaw. "Whatever made the Baron change his mind, I think we should all just be grateful it happened."

* * *

Felicity didn't even try to hide her feelings as she cycled the long route home, her legs aching with the effort as she drew closer to home. Home, the word didn't seem to suit Sous La Chaine anymore, it was just a building now, a building she was all but trapped within.

Her eyes were damp, making the bitter wind sting all the more. She almost welcomed the pain, at least she felt something. Once again she tried to tell herself that at least they were alive, and as safe as they could be given the circumstances.

She heard the Baron's car before it whizzed past her, causing her bike to wobble slightly. She stopped, watching as it disappeared round the curve into the driveway of Sous La Chaine. She wiped at her eyes, she absolutely refused to let him see that she'd been crying. He could have many things from her, but not her tears.

She took in a deep, fortifying breath. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew that, he made her feel things that he absolutely shouldn't, when he touched her she felt sensation fizz along her veins, her skin felt as though it were on fire, she may even physically enjoy the time they spent together, but she had never thought that it would come to this. She had acknowledged that she was attracted to him, loathed herself for even entertaining such thoughts about a German soldier, the Kommandant no less, but she had never once intended to act upon them. Not until the moment when she realised that she could trade in that attraction for the sake of her family.

Even now she didn't regret it, didn't feel the overwhelming urge to change her mind, to try and back out. He had kept up his side of the bargain, it was her turn now. It was just the thought, the knowledge that the minute she rounded that corner everything would change, and the control that she had always relished having would no longer be hers.

Still, she supposed that there was no point in delaying the inevitable, it was going to happen, one way or the other. With a last sniff, she steeled her shoulders and mounted her bike once more.

* * *

He was exiting the car as she approached, giving her no more than a cursory glance before he looked away again, rounding the vehicle. They drew level with the steps at the same time, and still he did not once glance in her direction, seemed determined to ignore her. This morning, at the harbour, she had been grateful for that, now it simply made her uncomfortable. She didn't know where she stood with the blasted man, and it made her edgy.

As she placed her bike against the stone steps, Felicity couldn't help but notice he had paused. She thought of Phil's small smile, of his confidence and she knew that had only been possible because of him. Unable to help herself, she turned, walking towards him. His expression was stern as he looked at her, but still she met his impenetrable gaze and told him, "I know I've said it before, but thank you. I can never repay you for what you've done for me...for Phil."

His lips pursed as he gave the smallest of nods. "I hope he keeps well."

"I'm sure he will," she returned quietly. "And that's down to you."

He didn't reply, and she did not wish to push the conversation, and so turning on her heel she left him to his thoughts. She could feel his eyes burn into her back as she walked the long, dark corridor that led into her home.


	4. Chapter 4

**This show is back in my head again, So hopefully that means more than just this one update :)**

* * *

The words on the numerous documents spread across the table were beginning to blur together, his head ached and he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on any of the information in front of him. A small noise of impatient disgust escaped the Baron's throat as he pushed the sheaves of paper away and got to his feet.

He wandered to the window, staring unseeingly out into the darkness of the gardens as the rain battered heavily against the windows. She wouldn't be out tonight, was his first thought, a thought that was swiftly followed by his second; which was he could not possibly contrive an accidental meeting. His body tightened. Not that an accidental meeting was even necessary now. He had her within his grasp. Through fair play or foul, and he wasn't sure which this fell under, he had won her.

At that thought his mouth curled into a humourless grin. He had won her company, her time and her body he thought grimly, but the woman herself would still hold herself at a distance. The large Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed in recognition of the dawning hour, and the Baron knew that the time was drawing near when he would have to decide whether he wanted her submission tonight.

His fingertips pressed against his forehead, in truth he did not want her submission on any night. He wanted her willingly, wanted to hear her tell him that she desired him just as much as he yearned for her. His fists clenched tightly at that thought, he had never before chased after any woman, not even his own wife. So why her? It was a question that if truth be told he did not want to know the answer to.

Either way, she was upstairs, most likely waiting for him to make his next move. Her husband - the mildly irritating thorn in his side was gone – and his road was clear. And yet he hesitated, grappling with uncertainty – an emotion that before he had met Felicity Dorr, he had rarely been troubled by. If he went tonight then she could see him as nothing more than the invading enemy, come to collect his prize. He did not want that, and yet the thought of waiting another moment did not appeal to him either.

Rocking forward on the balls of his feet, he focussed his eyes on the darkness outside, watching as the wind whipped around the tree branches. His eyes narrowed, he detested this damnable English weather, nothing like the warm breeze that would whip around his vineyard at this time of year. He closed his eyes, imagining his home, how he would sit out at night with a glass of wine, how when his boys were young they had played together in the grounds. His chest ached at the memory, he had hoped that he would spend his later years spending such times with his grandchildren. Now that hope had been trampled. Watching his remaining on grow older and have a family would forever be tainted by the knowledge that for Manfred it would never happen. He was lost, shot down and lost in some burnt up wreckage. The bile rose in his throat and his eyes stung with barely withheld tears.

He didn't want to think, didn't want to remember what he had lost, he just wanted to forget. She made him forget, he didn't know what it was about her, but she made him forget that he was sworn to a party whose ideals he grew more uncomfortable with daily, made him forget that he had a wife who retreated into the darkness of her own mind almost constantly now and that he had lost one boy and with every day faced the knowledge that he could easily lost the other. But when he was with her, he didn't think anything past that moment, the words that fell from her mouth, the gestures she used, they captivated him, held him suspended in that moment. The pain still waited for him, but in those moments it subsided.

His mind made up, he turned away from the window. He didn't want to think anymore, he wanted to forget, his decision was made.

* * *

Felicity ran her hands over the thin cotton nightgown that covered her hips, biting down on her bottom lip as she glanced at her clothing in the mirror. What exactly was one supposed to wear when expecting the man you had offered yourself on a plate to? One eyebrow quirked thoughtfully, probably not such a drab item. She should no doubt be draped across her bed in something incredibly flimsy. The type of clothing she didn't own.

Sitting down at her dressing table, she stared past her own reflection as she pulled a brush through her hair, continuing to think about what awaited her. He might be disappointed by the reality. The bland, modest nightgown combined with a lack of any seductive skills, her hand trembled slightly, the brush catching in her hair, he would be disappointed and she knew it. She may be attracted to him but sex had always been a bit over-rated to her mind, something to be tolerated, that would not change. She just wondered what that meant for her when she let him down, her son and husband were safely out of harm's way, but she was not.

She swallowed heavily, he might not show tonight, after all despite their…deal, she thought was the best word to describe it, he had yet to show any real interest in her. But James was out of the picture now, the tiny voice in her head reminded her, she was completely alone on this island. Her hands shook slightly and she tightened them into fists in an attempt to control her reaction, she was at his mercy, his beck and call, she could only hope that she had not thrown herself out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The door to her room opened with a small click, and Felicity jumped, swirling round to find the Baron staring at her intently, her bedroom door now closed behind him. "You should have knocked," she reprimanded him instinctively.

He gave a small smile, ducking his head as he let out a low chuckle. "I assumed, Mrs Dorr that you would not appreciate me being seen waiting outside your bedroom door."

"Oh." Her shoulders slumped slightly as her indignant righteousness dissipated instantly. "You assumed correctly." She got clumsily to her feet, watching him as prey would watch its predator.

His eyes flickered over her form, and despite the fact that she was adequately covered, she fought the urge to cover herself further. Forcing herself to stand slightly straighter, she moved towards the bed, her nerve failing her at the last second she found herself perching nervously on the edge of her bedspread.

The Baron continued to stare at her. He was unused to seeing her look so uncertain, her eyes avoiding his, her delicate hands resting on her lap. "You seem nervous," he stated needlessly.

She looked back up at him. His jacket was off, his hair mused, he looked less put together than he normally did, and yet instead of seeming relaxed, he appeared more on edge than she felt. His shoulders tight, his jaw tensed and skin pale. "You don't look much better," she retorted. His eyebrow arched and she amended herself quickly, "I'm sorry. You're here on my agreement, to my benefit, I shouldn't be baiting you."

"You understand why I'm here. I've given you a reprieve until now." He heard the words fall from his mouth and hated the ugly connotation behind them, but he wanted her, he wouldn't be denied any further, not when he didn't have to be.

"Of course," she nodded. She got momentarily to her feet, folding back the covers and sitting back down again. As she began to settle back onto the sheet, she asked him, "Can you get the light?"

He frowned, the state of her marriage more than obvious with her words. The Senator may have been an islander but it would appear his English schooling had made him just as repressed as any home-grown Englishman. "Would it make you feel more comfortable?" He asked.

"Comfortable?" She echoed. Surely everyone turned the lights out, James always had. She shifted slightly before answering, "Yes, I suppose it would."

"Very well." He would initiate her slowly then, there was little point in rushing her. They had time, neither of them was going anywhere and he wanted her to want him just as much as he desired her.

Turning, he flicked off the lights and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. As he waited he unbuttoned his shirt, could hear her breathing quicken slightly, and knew that she was aware of what he was doing. He shed his clothes quickly before moving towards her. He slipped underneath the sheets and reached for her.

She went willingly, shifting underneath his embrace, waiting for him to push her nightgown up her thighs. He didn't do as she expected, his hand instead stroking across her cheek, down to her jaw, gently turning her face to his. "Baron?" She whispered questioningly.

"Heinrich," he corrected her. "The formalities seem rather pointless."

"Yes, I suppose they do," she murmured.

"Then I can call you Felicity?"

"Given the circumstances it would seem churlish to refuse," she replied, her voice shaking slightly as his fingertips brushed against her mouth. She sighed softly as pressed a slight kiss to the corner of her mouth before his lips found hers. His fingers slid into her hair, angling her perfectly.

She was intoxicating, he decided. Hesitant at first until she slowly but surely became more competent, her hands sliding over his shoulders, cupping his head, drawing him closer. He wanted her desperately now, his body quickly hardening.

He knew he had to take his time though, this was his opportunity to show her the passion that was lacking from her life, and she he stroked his hand down the curve of her waist and back up again. He shifted slightly, pressing his lips to the soft skin of her throat, heard her breath catch and a small, muted moan of pleasure escape from her, spurring him on.

The plain, loose nightgown she wore, slipped off one shoulder and he explored the smooth skin of her shoulder and collarbone that it bared to him. Her back arched as she pushed herself further into caress and his lips found hers again and this time she kissed him back in pure abandonment.

Felicity pulled him closer, unable to believe that the man she so wanted to despise could make her feel so alive. Sex with James had never been unpleasant but it had been perfunctory and brief. He had never really taken the time to explore her body and she had never really felt comfortable enough to explore his. Now however her hands pressed against the Baron's chest, sweeping upwards, until her fingers were smoothing through his hair.

She felt the scrape of his stubble against her cheek as he moved to kiss her neck again and she arched again, her thigh brushing against the hot hard length of him. Her eyes opened as she remembered just what she was about to do, that she was about to break her marriage vows with a man her husband considered an enemy, and the thought caused her to stiffen slightly. Aware of the sudden tension in her body, he drew back slightly and looked at her, caressing her cheek softly as he told her, "I can stop, it doesn't have to be tonight."

Staring at him in surprise, Felicity felt as though her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. She had known he wouldn't hurt her, but she hadn't thought he would stop to consider her feelings. "No," she finally croaked out. "Don't stop." She had made a deal and it made no difference when she finally gave into this, the outcome would be the same.

He gave a nod, his hand trailing to her thigh, pressing her nightgown up her hips, watching her carefully as he did so. She settled back onto the pillows, waiting for him to lie over her, preparing herself for his weight. It didn't come. Instead his hands continued up her legs, taking her nightgown with it, and she shivered at his touch, lifting her hips, letting him bring it higher. "Sit forward," he commanded her, his voice gruff. "Can't get this…thing off."

"Off?" Felicity echoed. "Does it need to come of?" She asked unthinkingly.

The Baron, paused slightly at that, wanting to tell her that her husband clearly had no idea what he had in front of him, but instead choosing to reply, "I would prefer it." Nodding hurriedly, Felicity brought herself forward, her movements awkward and clumsy, causing her to grab the Baron's shoulder for purchase. She could feel her cheeks burn as he removed that last barrier, baring her to his intense gaze. "Better," he murmured as he stared at her.

She opened her mouth to reply, to say what she wasn't sure, but any words were lost as his lips descended to her breast, sucking her nipple into his warm mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as she let out a quiet moan. She squirmed against him, feeling as though she wanted to get away and move closer all at the same time.

He began to kiss his way down her body again, across the sensitive skin of her stomach, making her shiver. She made a small noise of protest that died in her throat as he lifted her thigh, his mouth on her slick heat, his tongue tracing expertly over her sensitive flesh. She moaned, trying to move away as the pressure in her stomach built but he held her in place, his strong hand locked on her hip. She was panting, her hand gripping the pillow slightly, twisting her head and attempting to stifle her noises of pleasure into the cotton. She had never felt like this and she wasn't sure she could take much more.

Knowing she was teetering on the brink, the Baron stopped, another time he would watch her fall apart like this, but he couldn't stand to wait any longer. He had waited too long for her. Moving up and over her, he locked her legs around his waist and kissed her again as he flexed his hips forward, surging into her, his low groan matching with her soft cry of pleasure.

When he had come to her tonight, he had intended to take things slowly, he had seen her uncertainty and wanted to ease that, but he couldn't hold back any longer, and it appeared that neither could she. She moved with him, meeting his desperate rhythm with ease, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders, spurring him on.

Her head thrashed from side to side, she needed something, she was so close to…something but she couldn't quite reach it. "Please," she muttered unthinkingly. His mouth found her neck, tracing up until he was kissing her again. His fingers sneaking in between where they were joined, stroking and pressing at her, driving her over the edge. She cried out into his mouth, the contractions of her body, gripping at him, taking him with her, and he groaned as his body shook over her.

As they floated back down to reality, he couldn't help but kiss her again, softly and sweetly this time, savouring the moment he had with her.

She gave a soft sigh, watching as he drew back from her. She had never expected to feel such a way, had never dreamed that sex could have been so intense. All she wanted now was to curl up into his embrace, to feel his touch on her still. The flush of her cheeks deepened at such an inappropriate thought. He was not her husband, it was bad enough that she had enjoyed what had just transpired between them, but to draw it out, to treat it as though it were a love affair would be wrong of her. Pulling free of his embrace, Felicity pulled the covers to her neck as she told him, "You should probably go."

The Baron tilted his head slightly, knew from the angle of her head and the way she covered herself so entirely that she felt ashamed of what had just transpired and the thought saddened him, made the bitterness seep into his soul again. "Felicity," he breathed out as he reached for her, wanting her back into his arms.

She shook her head, her voice wavering slightly now as she repeated, "You need to go."

"Why? Your husband is not here and no-one will disturb us."

"That's hardly the point," she snorted.

"Then what is?" He lay back on her pillows, making it clear he had no intention of leaving. "We have an agreement, and you most certainly enjoyed your side of it."

"How dare you!" she hissed. "I might let you use my body, I might even react to it but that does not mean you control me."

His anger flared at her choice of words, at the reminder that she had not chosen this path willingly, that it had been a sacrifice she had felt compelled to offer. "Then you misunderstand my role on this island," he informed her curtly. He got to his feet, unashamed of his nakedness, continuing to talk as he pulled on his clothing. "I control this island and everyone on it. Do you never question why there has been none of the horror here that there has been in France? Because of the orders I give my men, because I keep them under control. You reside here at my mercy, your family is alive at my mercy and your life is bearable because I make it so!" His eyes flashed as he looked down at her. He still wanted her, but not like this, not as some martyr who did not want to admit that she wanted to experience what was between them. The irony was that he would have saved her son anyway, because as she said, it was right. If he took her again then she would beg him for it. Turning away from her, he informed her, "Consider your debt paid, Mrs Dorr." Before storming from the room.

Felicity stared after him, sinking back into her bed. Embarrassment crawling over her, his words could have been considered arrogant and yet the simple fact that they were true stopped them being so. However loathe she was to admit it, things could have been worse. She pressed her hot cheek against the pillow, turning it over to access the cool side of the cotton case. She should be relieved, he had finished with her, and yet he had left her feeling so confused. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, if only she hadn't felt so much during their time together, if only she had kept herself in check. If only James had not encouraged Philip so foolishly. If only she had left when she had the chance. If only, she thought as she fell into a restless sleep.


End file.
